


Better Spent in Love

by QuickLikeLight, volatilehearted (anomalagous)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Camping, Changelings, Depression, Fae & Fairies, Faerie Glamour, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Mind Control, POV Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Sciles Mini-bang 2015, Smut, houseplants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalagous/pseuds/volatilehearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott was his best friend, and Stiles should have noticed sooner.</p><p>“You’re not leaving, are you?”<br/>“No." Stiles didn't even have to see his face to understand that resolve. "No, I’m not going anywhere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Spent in Love

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Canon Divergence: This story starts in late April of Scott and Stiles' senior year of high school, and ignores Scott biting Liam. There are mentions of past relationships, including Lydia/Parrish, Stiles/Malia, Scott/Kira, and Scott/Allison. Side pairings include Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Braeden/Derek Hale, and Cora Hale/Lydia Martin 
> 
> This fic would not exist without the help of my artist, beta, and friend, [anomalagous](http://anomalagous.tumblr.com). LC, you helped so much with keeping me on track this bang season, especially when I was pulling my hair out over the lack of sense-making this was doing. Thank you for your lovely support of my writing, for making gorgeous art for my words, and for sharing your talent with our corner of fandom. You're the best.
> 
> My thanks go also to the coordinators of the bang and the other participants; this is an event I am so proud to be taking part in, and I'm grateful it exists. To the writers in the Root Cellar, [Dea](http://tofixtheshadows.tumblr.com), [Roane](http://roane72.tumblr.com), [Evith](http://wintergrey.tumblr.com), and everyone else who listened to me grumble and groan about this fic, read passages and pages, and generally cheered me on through the end, I couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> Finally, to [Brit](http://bfab11.tumblr.com), [Essbee](http://differintegrate.tumblr.com), and [Kate](http://pictures-to-prove-it.tumblr.com), who put up with my constant wordcount updates, general flailing, and incredible amounts of chat messages about nothing, I cannot possibly thank you enough for your consistent support and love. I adore you and I'm so glad we ended up here together.

He should have noticed it sooner.

To be fair, no one else noticed either. And it wasn’t like he had nothing else on his mind. He had a stack of college acceptance letters piled on his desk, a photo of the pack dressed in their prom finery in a frame on his nightstand, and quite possibly the last lacrosse game of his life looming in two days. The pack was already drifting apart at the seams, even as they promised not to. Lydia had graciously accepted her full ride to MIT and was currently finishing the last of her core courses through their local community college.

“If I’m going to finish my PhD by the time I’m 26, I don’t need any distractions,” she said primly, peeling pictures of Jordan Parrish out of her locker and dropping them into the garbage can.

“Does ‘distractions’ mean government classes or guys?” Stiles dropped his voice before continuing, “Or did you mean things of the supernatural variety?”

Lydia smiled sunshine bright as she tipped a handful of Beacon Hills Lacrosse flyers into the trash. “D. All of the Above.”

Malia and Kira were going back to New York with Kira’s parents as soon as Summer ended, to try out life in a different kind of forest. Derek and Braeden spent half their time on the road seeking out rogue supes, and the other half locked securely in Derek’s loft. _That_ , Stiles did his best not to think about.  Mostly because he was pretty sure that if he _did_ think about it, and Braeden ever caught him, she’d probably kill him.

With the end of their senior year rapidly approaching, Stiles had basically checked out. Taken a deep breath. Figured it was over.

But Scott was his best friend, and he should have noticed sooner.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

The spring air was cooler than he’d figured it would be, and he huddled deeper into his plaid shirt. The stump of the nemeton was rough and jagged under his fingertips. It looked smooth, but the wood pulsed with energy, and his fingers stung a little as he raked them over the hewn surface.

“No.” Scott’s face was barely illuminated, sparse moonlight scattered by the full branches of the trees around them. Stiles didn’t need to see his face to know what he looked like, though. He didn’t have to see to understand that resolve. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And were you ever going to, like, tell me this?” Stiles asked, pulling his knees up to his chest. Scott shrugged.

“I knew you’d realize it eventually. Somebody’s got to stay here, keep them safe.”

“So all of that studying for the SATs and writing personal statements and going with me on campus visits…?”

Scott dropped his head into his hands. “Can you blame me for wanting to pretend?”

“With me? Yeah. I can. A little.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott’s voice was muffled, but it was easy to hear the soft thud of his heels against the tree stump. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never - never mean for anyone to get hurt.”

Stiles swallowed the lump that still rose up in his throat when he thought of Allison, of the night the three of them had found this place together, had recognized it in themselves and in each other. _No such thing as fate_ , she’d said, but they were tethered to this outcome pretty securely just the same.

“You could go anyway,” he tried. Always one for exercises in futility, Stiles.

“You know I can’t.”

“Derek could-”

“The Hale pack protected this land for more than a century, Stiles. It’s someone else’s turn.” He paused and raked a hand through his hair. “Besides, don’t you think Derek’s gone through enough?”

“And we haven’t?” Stiles asked, incredulous. “Scott, our whole lives have been turned upside down. We’ve been hunted and possessed and sent into limbo. You’ve been shot multiple times. Three weeks ago, _fauns_ ate my Econ book. This is not a life that anyone should have to deal with all the time. Especially you.”

“What am I supposed to say?” He laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh that Stiles knew and loved. There was something painful there, something deep and twisting in Scott’s voice that made him want to fight, want to grab onto the darkness and shove it out.

“This is our chance to get out! To be normal again for a while. Make something of ourselves that has nothing to do with Alphas or evil spirits or the full moon.”

“And you should.” Stiles could hear the smile in his voice over the heartbreak. “You will. You’re gonna be amazing. And I’m… gonna be here. I’m gonna be right here. Until it kills me.”

Before he even realized it, Stiles had wrapped himself around Scott’s shaking shoulders, pulling the wolf tight to his chest.

“Hey, Scotty - hey, it’s okay,” he hushed as Scott curled tightly on himself, soft whimpers escaping through clenched teeth. “I understand. You have to stay? Then you have to stay. I get it. It’s okay.”

“I’m just -” Tears slipped down his cheeks, and Stiles wished he had a tissue or something to offer him. “I’m happy for you. I am. I’m just going to miss you. A lot.”

The truth was, Stiles had never been able to stand it when Scott cried.

“Nah you’re not, Scotty,” Stiles smiled, shaking his head. Scott pulled back, an affronted frown on his face.

“What do you -? Of course I’m going to miss you, bro. That’s… why would you even…-”

“Scott,” Stiles stopped him, a giddy, absurd laugh bubbling up out of his gut. “You’re not going to miss me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Scott shook his head. “No, you’re not doing this. You’re not giving up your future for me.”

“You’re right. I’m not. Not giving anything up. Just changing it slightly.” He squeezed tighter, pulling Scott into the curve of his body. The wolf resisted for moment, impervious to Stiles’ strength, but finally relaxed, falling into his chest.

“You have a scholarship,” Scott argued, nuzzling his face against Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re going to live in the dorms. Have the full college experience.”

“But if I can’t have it with you, it won’t _be_ the full college experience, so what’s the point? I’ll be just as happy here, going to Beacon State, and taking on the world with you. Happier.”

“I can’t let you do this, Stiles. I can’t let you give up your shot at normal. You’ll hate me in a year, and I won’t be able to deal with it.”

Stiles’ laughter finally quieted at the pain in Scott’s voice. Stiles shook him, pushing Scott back by the shoulders until he could look his best friend in the eye. “I could never hate you. And I’ll prove it. Give me one year. I’ll get my admission deferred, I can get another scholarship. Give me one year here with you and I’ll prove to you that nothing is more important than this, okay buddy? I’ll be just as happy here in Beacon Hills as I would be anywhere else in the world.”

Scott shook his head, mouth agape. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t leave you here to do it alone,” Stiles smiled and glanced over Scott’s shoulder, toward the darkness of the preserve. He willed his heart steady as he finished, “Somebody’s got to be the brains of this outfit, right?”

“One year, then,” Scott nodded after a long pause. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and hugged him close. “One year, and then you’re going to college. No arguments.”

“We’ll see.”

**-x-**

Watching the pack leave one by one was difficult, but what he felt was nothing compared to Scott’s pain, not really.  Scott’s face was a picture of pleasant placidity, but Stiles knew this had to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and he had -

Well. Scott had done a lot of difficult things. Best to just leave it at that.

They stood together in the parking lot of Derek’s building, watching as Kira and Malia finished packing up the little vintage Volkswagen the Yukimuras had purchased for them.

“You’ll call every night when you check into your motels,” Stiles said, pointing seriously at Malia. “You’ll make her, won’t you Kira?”

“Yes, _dad_ ,” Kira laughed. Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow.

“Apparently I get to be the dad now, Scott,” he said with a dry smirk, trying to cheer Scott even through the forced smiles. “Does that make you pack mom?”

Scott groaned.

“He’s so pack mom,” Malia cried. “And we are rebellious pack teenagers off on an adventure. Bye mom and dad! Don’t break any hips while we’re gone!”

“That’s hilarious, Malia. If anyone in New York asks where you received your comedy training, feel free to refer them to Cousin Derek, and nowhere in the vicinity of me,” Stiles snarked back. Still, in the space of a breath he had both Kira and Malia wrapped in a tight hug. Kira pulled Scott in by the front of his shirt, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“You gonna be okay?” Kira asked quietly, brushing her hand over Scott’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded, sterning up his forehead. “Yeah, ‘course. You don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Kind of hard not to.” She smiled even though her eyes were filling up with tears. “We’re gonna miss you, Scott. I’m - uh, I’m really going to miss you.”

“I miss you already.” Stiles couldn’t hear Scott’s heartbeat, but they all knew Scott wasn’t lying.

“You’re going to take care of him, right?” Malia demanded, taking a fistful of Stiles’ collar and then smoothing it back out. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Scotty? Play the thoughtless, self-sacrificing martyr while you’re all off traipsing the land? He’d never,” Stiles grinned despite himself, eyes glued to Scott’s face. Scott flushed and scuffed his feet, but he didn’t let go of Kira’s hand where it had slipped down into his own. “‘Course I’ll take care of him ‘Lia. I’ve been taking care of Scott longer than you’ve been in a girl skin. You just leave this to me.”

After a few last tearful goodbyes, the girls loaded into the Beetle and pulled away, leaving Scott and Stiles standing alone on the pavement.

“We should probably head upstairs, make sure the plants are okay,” Scott muttered after a drawn-out moment.

Stiles’ eyebrows spoke for themselves. “Derek has plants?”

“Why else would he ask me to housesit?” Scott scoffed, heading for the stairs. “It’s not like he’d want me just to be like, in his house while he’s gone, if there aren’t…”

Stiles waited for it, a grin plastered over his face as he trotted up the stairs to the elevator landing, narrowly avoiding a puddle and soaking his shoes. Scott paused, put a palm against his forehead and grimaced.

“Derek bought plants so I’d have a pack place to go when everyone was gone, didn’t he?”

Stiles grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a half-hug. “By George, I think he’s got it!”

It hadn’t rained in three weeks.

**-x-**

Days turned to weeks, Summer to Fall, as Stiles settled into the altered version of his reality. Malia texted him pictures of Kira on top of the Empire State Building, hanging in a Subway tunnel, and sitting on the steps of a brownstone they apparently called home. Lydia skyped with him once a week to get updates on the pack, her mother, and whether or not Beacon Hills had gotten a Starbucks yet. She pointedly never asked about Jordan Parrish, but when he caught her scrubbing lipstick smears off of her neck, Stiles figured there were good reasons for that. Derek never answered his texts except with questions about his plants, which Stiles interpreted as questions about Scott.

_Is the apartment okay? Plants still thriving?_

**_Alpha’s as well as can be expected with me as his only pack member._ **

_Why are you texting me then?_

**_Good to talk to you, too, Der-bear._ **

_Don’t._

His dad had looked mildly askance (shocked, appalled, as if the earth would open up and swallow them all at any moment) when Stiles had offered to take Marie Jameson’s place at the front desk when she retired in September, but he found himself settling in pretty nicely just the same. It helped that the Sheriff’s station was just across the street from Deaton’s office.

“Don’t think I don’t see the glaze crumbs,” Stiles warned, barely glancing up from his filing as his dad slunk in from a consultation with the vet about an animal attack.

“If Alan wants to offer me breakfast -”

“You should tell him that you already ate. Because you did.” Stiles flipped pointedly through the old rolodex Ms. Jameson had kept on the desk, even though it was completely useless now. He’d spent the first month in the office digitizing everything he could get his hands on, installing a new multi-line phone system, and putting a webcam on his dad’s monitor so they could chat throughout the day.

“Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t find a yogurt parfait to qualify as anything other than a starter,” the Sheriff groused. “Scott says hi, by the way.”

“‘Course he does. He was more than happy with the breakfast I dropped off earlier.” Stiles spun one time in the rolling chair behind the desk, a little smug. He sniffed dramatically and added, “At least someone appreciates my domestic arts.”

His dad snorted and ruffled his hair, making them both cringe when he encountered the sticky-stiff gel. “Scott’s the one that bought the donuts, kiddo.”

Stiles vowed silently to pay off the guy that owned the Sweetie’s down the street. That econo-sized tub of Greek yogurt was not going to go to waste, damn it.

**-x-**

“Alright, Scotty, I got the Jeep all packed, I picked up your costume when I swung by Melissa’s, there’s a sixer of Heineken in the back though I still can’t figure out why you’d drink Heineken if you’re just drinking for the taste and -” Stiles cut himself off abruptly as Scott shuffled into the living room of the loft wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants and a three day old beard. “Um. Scotty?”

“Why’d you leave the beer in the car?” Scott asked blearily, strolling toward the kitchen where Derek’s succulent garden sat collected on a stainless steel cart that served as an island. “How’d you even get beer? But, more importantly, why’s it in the car?”

“Um.” Stiles blinked, staring at the sway of Scott’s hips as he moved deftly around the open space, filling the little watering can he’d purchased for this chore (“No, Stiles, I can’t just use a glass! What if the water hits them too hard? What if I break the little leaves? It needs to be filtered -!”). He wet his lips as his eyes hung on the deep-set dimples at the base of Scott’s spine, just showing over the waist of the grey sweats he’d taken to sleeping in at Derek’s house. Scott yawned, spine cracking as he wiped sleep out of his eyes with the heel of one hand, like maybe he’d been asleep for hours and was just waking up for the day. That thought was enough to jar Stiles back to the present.

“Halloween, Scotty. We’re going to a Halloween party? You said I could pick your costume. The Jeep is actually still running in the parking lot right now. Did you - did you sleep here all day?”

“It’s my day off,” Scott shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter and chugging it. “I was tired.”

“... My preternaturally productive werewolf best friend spent all day in bed at a packmate’s house because he’s _tired_?” Stiles snorted, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Yeah, tell me another one, stud.”

Now that he was no longer captivated by the long line of Scott’s spine, the musculature of his back, the clearly defined strength of his shoulders - well, mostly no longer captivated - it was easy to see the dark circles under Scott’s eyes, the slight sag of his face.

“I’m just tired, bro. I’ve been working a lot and it’s -” Scott trailed off, sinking toward the couch and slouching himself over the arm of it on his belly. “It’s hard. That’s all.”

“What’s hard, buddy?” Stiles steeled himself not to laugh at that, despite the obvious. He mostly managed it without a smirk. Scott smacked at him anyway.

“Quit it,” Scott admonished. “Not telling you now.” He covered his head with one of the almost-pristine throw pillows Derek had purchased before he and Braeden took off, his feet still just barely touching the floor over the couch arm.

“Gonna ruin the sofa that way,” Stiles remarked casually, sinking down on the small lip of sofa cushion left at Scott’s ribs. “Derek’d be so mad, bro.”

“What’s Derek even want with a couch?” Scott’s muffled voice came from under the pillow. “Pretty sure when he and Brae are here they only leave the bed to pee. I had to wash the sheets six times. It’s a mess.”

“Not as much of a mess as this couch is about to be,” Stiles shrugged.

Scott stilled for a moment, trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean. Just long enough for Stiles to attack. He latched both arms around Scott’s sides, fingers digging into his ribs and his armpits in an abrupt, all-out assault. Under him, Scott writhed and wriggled, bucking against Stiles’ chest with his back, but to no avail. With his feet barely on the floor and his arms trapped by Stiles’, he couldn’t get enough leverage to throw Stiles off.

“Mercy! Mercy! Unggghhhh - !! Fuck, Stiles, I’m gonna - pleaaaaase,” he begged, face pressed into the rough cushion.

“Please what?” Stiles asked, lips peeled back in a snarl. He dug in harder, grinning at the way Scott’s body twitched and twisted.

“You’re the worst,” Scott growled, twisting enough to get his arms around Stiles and drag him down to the sofa, pinning him under Scott’s body. “When somebody says ‘mercy’ you have to stop.”

“S’that the rule?” Stiles grinned, a little dazed. Scott’s face hovered just inches above his, furrowed beautifully in his irritation.

 _Beautifully_?

The word blindsided Stiles for a moment, spinning through his mind like a windstorm, scattering all his other thoughts. He’d gotten used to recognizing Scott’s ineffable attractiveness, the stable kindness, gentleness, humor and compassion layered under a regulation hottie’s body more than enough to turn heads every time they went out. _Beautiful_ was not The Hot Girl, though. It wasn’t jokingly offering to make out, or playing gay chicken in the locker room.

 _Beautiful_ was… something else.

“D’you hear that?” Scott asked, breaking apart the silver-strung thoughts building webs all over Stiles’ brain.

“Wha…?” Stiles mumbled, eyes skating quickly over the tightening lines of Scott’s face.

“Sounds like… heartbeats? But too loud. Drums, maybe. Someone’s drumming?” Scott sat up, kneeling unsteadily over Stiles’ body and looking toward the large window that faced the preserve. They both listened for a long second before a jarring knock sounded on the loft door. Together, they flailed off of the couch and onto the floor, Scott’s hands wrapped around Stiles’ head to keep him from bashing it into the coffee table.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” a chorus of small voices chanted. Scott breathed out a laugh, shaking his head as he hopped up and went to fetch a bowl of candy from the island. He slid the door open, happily handing out tiny candy bars to a series of pint sized superheroes, princesses, and one _very_ scary werewolf. The Sheriff poked his head in as the small troop of children filed back down the stairs, waving at Stiles with an amused smirk.

“Guessin’ y’all forgot about the station’s chaperoned trick or treating tour, huh?”

“A bit,” Stiles admitted, face reddened for reasons he couldn’t quite put words to.

“You forget about shirts too, kiddo?” his dad directed at Scott, and Stiles groaned as Scott’s chest flushed brilliant pink.

“So sorry sir, I just -”

“Nah, don’t worry,” Dad said, laughing. “We’re doing the other side of town for the eight o’clock tour, but if you don’t want trick or treaters, I’d turn off the lights outside. And Stiles?”

“Mmhmm?” Stiles grunted, eyes closed and head resting on the floor. The hard thud of his keys on his stomach made him gasp, and his dad laughed.

“I’d go get the beer out of the back of the Jeep if I were you, son. Parrish liberated one already, and I’m gonna guess you’re not getting that back.”

“Course. Thanks dad.”

The loft door groaned as Scott slid it closed, and they both echoed the sound as the Sheriff whistled happily down the stairs.

“So. Uh. Party?” Scott asked, hand stuck defensively to the back of his bare neck.

“Forget it,” Stiles rolled over, head resting on one arm. “How about we order a pizza and watch shitty horror movies all night instead?”

Scott grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Can we leave the lights on outside?”

“Sure, you giant dork.”

 _Beautiful_.

**-x-**

Derek and Braeden showed back up a week after Thanksgiving, with no warning at all except what Scott could hear from the other side of town.

“Why does my apartment smell like Stiles?” Derek grumbled as he walked through the door, slinging a duffel bag to the floor and kicking his boots off in one fluid movement.

“You left your keys with Scott. What exactly were you expecting?” Braeden laughed and stripped out of her sweater, revealing the tight purple tank top underneath.

“Yeah buddy,” Stiles grinned from the sofa, his head resting in Scott’s lap. “C’mon. You know Scotty can’t stay away from me.”

“Seems like maybe you have that backward,” Derek said, still grouchy. He padded over to the island where the plants sat, happy and green. He pointed at one of the succulents, a light green plant in a blue pot that Scott had picked out when it had grown out of the little plastic planting shell Derek had left it in. “This one got bigger.”

“Well,” Scott noded, eyes squinted. “That was the point, right? If you keep them from dying, they grow.”

Derek raked his eyes over the long-legged forms taking up most of his sectional and raised an eyebrow.

“So I’ve noticed.”

“You guys here for the night?” Braeden wandered over the kitchen, prodding at take out menus and closely examining the little herb garden Scott had started himself. Stiles felt Scott tense underneath him, start to hop up without even moving Stiles’ head.

“Uh, well. No, I mean, we have homes, we can just -”

“Stay,” Derek interrupted, not even looking at them. He reached back blindly, searching for Braeden’s hand, and found it within a second. Something in Stiles’ chest loosened at the sight of them there, holding hands in the kitchen in their bare feet. “We’ll eat together. Watch a movie or something.”

“You guys don’t want to… I dunno. Be alone?” Scott’s eyebrows disappeared into the short bangs he’d grown back out on accident. Stiles made a mental note to get him to the barber before it got so long he started looking fifteen again. Derek took one look at Scott’s face and started laughing.

“We’ve spent the last five months on the road, Scott,” Braeden said for him, nudging Derek in the ribs. “It’s good to see you. We want you to stay.”

“Oh,” Scott nodded, settling carefully back into the sofa. He carded his hand through the short, clean bristles of Stiles’ hair. The movement was casual, friendly, sweet, thoughtless; it made Stiles go hot and flushed all over. That didn’t keep him from pushing his head harder against Scott’s hand.

“Well good,” Stiles heard himself saying, barely conscious of the thoughts forming on his tongue. “Because we’re not going anywhere any time soon.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to,” Derek shrugged, looking intently at Stiles but speaking to Scott. “It’s an honor to have my Alpha in my home.”

“Um. Th - thanks, Derek.”

Stiles could hear the catch in Scott’s throat, emotional and overwhelmed. He rubbed one hand gently up Scott’s chest, over his shoulder, squeezing and comforting.

“Good,” he said, not sitting up, just keeping his hand on Scott’s neck, his eyes on Scott’s face. “So what’re you feeding us, Der-bear?”

“ _Stiles_.”

**-x-**

The jogger went missing two days after Christmas, a college freshman home for the holidays just on the cusp of nineteen. Stiles didn’t have to ask to know his dad was thinking of how, if she’d gone to Beacon Hills High, young Megan Stone would have been in his graduating class. He’d lost enough classmates - enough friends - to recognize that face.

He tried to adopt a casual air as he leaned against the reception desk, but the heavy cloud over Scott’s head was all but a corporeal thing these days. Stiles itched to shoo it away.

“I checked the preserve,” Scott sighed, running a hand through his freshly cut hair. As he spoke, his already tense body wound up tighter, helplessness pouring off of him. “I didn’t find any sign of her. I’ve looked all over and there’s just… nothing, man, not even a scent trail.”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles grabbed the shaking hand hanging by Scott’s side, squeezing it between both of his own. “S’okay dude. You know, missing joggers happen outside of Beacon Hills all the time. Maybe she got in a fight with her boyfriend. Maybe she argued with her parents. Maybe she decided she wanted to be an actress. We can’t know it was…-”

He trailed off, watching the way Scott seemed to slump further into himself, eyes squeezed closed.

“I found this.” A string of sparkling stones tied together with something like silver twine lay pooled in Scott’s hand. Stiles squinted at it, but it didn’t look like anything he recognized from his research.

It also really, really did not look human.

“Maybe it’s a…. neck….lace?” he tried, but even he could hear the disbelief in his voice. Scott shook his head, and then shook the string of stones.

They _rang_.

“Wait wait, are those _bells_?” he asked, grabbing at them to get a closer look. As soon as his hand touched the stones, though, a deep, rumbling shock shot through him like electricity. “Holy -!”

“Hey, hey,” Scott pulled them away, shoving the stones into his pocket. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders immediately, pulling him close against the ache of the vibration in his bones. “Sorry, I didn’t know it would do that to you.”

“Did it do that to you?!” Stiles felt his voice going high and squeaky, but he couldn’t stop it. Who knew how long Scott had been holding those damned bells?

“Not as much. Just feels like a little buzzing to me,” Scott assured him, smoothing his palms down the sides of Stiles’ face. His eyes were wide, concerned, and his hands large and warm on Stiles’s cheeks. His thumbs followed the line of Stiles’ cheekbones steadily, soothingly. His face, for all its familiarity, had changed these last months: more drawn, more adult, less vibrant but more solidly gentle for all of it, stability and strength visible in every pore.

Scott leaned in, rested his forehead against Stiles’ for the space of a breath - _in, out_ \- and another - _in, out_ \- and for a second Stiles thought maybe, if he just tipped his head forward a bit they could - _he could_ -

“Come on, you look a little pale. Better get you home so you can rest,” Scott said, breaking eye contact and pulling himself away. Stiles could still feel the lingering presence of his touch on his face, gone stupid with the contact. Scott pulled him out of the Sheriff’s station by the hand, skin on skin almost as shocking as the strange bells.

**-x-**

“They do seem to be some sort of supernatural charm,” Deaton nodded, prodding at the string of stones with a long Q-tip-looking thing. Stiles barely contained his eyeroll.

“Yes we had gotten that far,” he snapped. Scott stilled him with a warm palm to his chest, smoothing his shirt against his breastbone.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It doesn’t seem like a werewolf thing,” Scott said, shrugging. “I thought it might be a druid thing?”

“Not a druid thing, exactly,” Deaton said in that cryptic way he had when he knew things and he wasn’t planning to give them up with any degree of swiftness.

“Oh that is the most helpful --” Stiles started, but Scott just pressed harder on his chest. The pressure was absurdly soothing, a gentle reminder of Scott’s presence, his ability to manage this conversation so much better than Stiles ever could.

“Do you know what sort of thing made this? We think whatever it was may have something to do with the missing jogger. Megan.” Scott didn’t flinch at the name as he said it, but the heavy weight of it in his mouth was obvious. Stiles grimaced. This girl wasn’t even someone they knew, but there she was, another name on Scott McCall’s “List of People I’ve Failed.”

“It likely did.” Deaton sounded so unconcerned, like even his tone was shrugging clinically. Stiles longed to smack him, just to get a reaction. “I’ve only seen stones like these once before. The creators very rarely come to this world at all, and only under special circumstances.”

“Okay could you just spit it out already?” Stiles growled, pressing forward against the strength of Scott’s arm.

“The Fae,” Deaton said, eyebrows furrowed as if he’d mentioned they were running low on bandages, or Scott forgot to take out the trash that morning. “Specifically these bells are often used by members of the Seelie Court to find lost kin.”

“Fae. Like. Faeries?!” Stiles felt his voice going into that shrieky octave again, almost breathless with the complete ridiculousness of it all. “Faeries. No. There’s no way.”

“Werewolves, kitsunes, kanimas yes, faeries no?” Deaton narrowed his eyes judgily, as if he had room to judge Stiles for not buying the obviously unfathomable –

“That must be why there are mushroom circles all throughout the preserve,” Scott interrupted his train of thought, like everything was clicking into place, and that –

That could not be right.

“Whoa, buddy, seriously? You’re serious? You are not serious. You can’t – _Faeries_ , Scott? Little Tinkerbell looking guys with bug wings and pixie dust?”

“Pixies and Faeries are completely different,” Deaton said, carefully wrapping the stones in aluminum foil. “For one, Faeries aren’t nearly as emotional as Pixies are. For another--”

Stiles thumped his head deliberately against the wall. Hard. The wince immediately after likely undermined his dramatic intention, but it was still pretty satisfying to watch Deaton flinch, even if it did mean being on the receiving end of Scott’s concerned eyes.

“Would the stones do that to him, or…?”

“I am not being controlled by Faeries, Scott,” Stiles huffed.

“Well. That is exactly what someone being controlled by Faeries would say.” Scott smiled, lopsided and adorable, and Stiles huffed some more.

“This can’t be happening. What would a Faerie even want with an eighteen year old jogger?”

“What did Megan look like? Do you know?” Deaton stuffed the stones and foil into a leather pouch and then started filling it with black dust from one of his many vaguely medicinal-looking containers. “Fae don’t have the same sorts of senses you and I do, but they see plainly enough, as far as we’re aware. Perhaps Megan has a specific trait that would make her stand out to them?”

“I’m not sure, just like a girl I guess--” Scott started, but Stiles shook his head, rattling off the details from the missing person’s report like they were tattooed on the back of his eyelids.

“She’s 5’5”, athletic build from running cross country, red hair she’d recently cut into a bob, blue eyes, freckles. She wore cat eye glasses but usually put in contacts to run, and she was wearing a Beacon Heights sweatshirt the day she went missing.” He trailed off at the slightly dumbfounded looks on both their faces. “Listen, that flyer’s been posted in front of my face for the last three days. I didn’t have much of a choice in this.”

“Nothing jumps out at me,” Deaton shook his head. “I’ll keep it in mind though.”

“What can we do in the meantime?” Scott asked, all tensed for directions that Stiles knew he rarely ever got.

“The Fae are older and far more powerful than you, or anything you’ve ever met, Scott. The best thing you can do is to stay out of trouble, and stay out of the woods.”

“Of course,” Scott nodded.

Stiles’ stomach sank.

**-x-**

Of course they ended up in the woods.

Of fucking course they did.

“A little help here?” Stiles grunted, trying to bend the tent poles the right way. It wasn’t cold, just cool and damp in the brush despite the record lack of rain. Stiles strained and sweated trying to push the bendy, springy rod into the ground. Scott just laughed and, with one economical push, snapped the rod into place. The tent sprung up with a bounce.

“I don’t know why we even brought a tent,” he grumbled, going to grab his bag out of the Jeep. “As far as we know, Megan got picked up on the trail. Wouldn’t it be easier to… I dunno. Just hang out in the Jeep? Walk around until we find one of those mushroom circles? Something?”

Something in Scott’s face twisted for a moment, a soft look that melted into nothing as soon as Stiles tried to suss it out.

“Fae are supposed to be drawn to travelers. At least, that’s what Derek’s really, extremely, unhelpfully minimal information about them says.” Scott shrugged and tossed his rolled up sleeping bag into the tent. “Besides. We haven’t gone camping in years. I thought…”

Stiles’ head whipped around so quickly his shoulders struggled to follow, but he played it off. Well. He stumbled wildly into the side of the Jeep. Same thing.

“You thought?”

“I dunno,” Scott said, shoulders slumping some. “I thought it might be fun.”

“Fun?” Stiles barked a laugh, too fast and too loud in the preserve. “Scott, we’re trying to get fairy napped here. What’re we going to do, make s’mores? Sing campfire songs?”

“Howl at the moon?” Scott suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. For half a second, Stiles’ heart skipped, thinking maybe that was some sort of… something. Innuendo. A suggestion. An offer? His heart thudded hard in his throat, and he had to clear it twice before he could respond.

“That sounds… promising.”

Scott smiled as he dug into his backpack, pulling out a bag of marshmallows. “I may have brought stuff to make s’mores, too.”

They set up the rest of their minimal campsite without much fuss, moving around one another in the way of old lovers and lifelong friends, passing each other seamlessly without putting too much space between them. By the time darkness fell, Stiles felt his shoulders easing some, the tension in the air dissipating with the crackling of the little fire Scott lit. The evening was cool and damp, but the circle of light that the fire offered felt like a line of protection from their enemies, like nothing from the dark could reach them here.

Well. Almost nothing.

“Only a few months left,” Scott said, tilting his soda back for a long swallow. Stiles watched the line of his throat work, admired the way firelight played against his skin.

“Few months of what?” he asked, not even trying to drag his eyes away from Scott’s collarbones just visible through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Until your year’s up.” Scott shrugged, staring into the fire. “Thought about where you’re going to take off to?”

“Uh, it’s like four months, not ‘a few.’ And no. I’ve been kind of wrapped up in stuff here.” Stiles felt himself getting defensive, but he couldn’t help it. If Scott wanted him to leave -- he couldn’t even consider that possibility.

“Four months isn’t…” Scott stopped, running his hand through his hair and then smoothing it back down. “It isn’t that long.”

“Yeah, well, when you could be snatched by fucking faeries at literally any fucking time, it’s also not that short.”

Scott snorted into his coke can, and then abruptly sneezed, laughed, and coughed at the same time.

“Whoa, Scotty, what?”

“Burns,” Scott grunted, rubbing at his nose one-handed. Stiles gaped for a second.

“Did you… Did you just…?”

“Snort soda up my nose? Yeah. I did. And it hurt.” Scott pouted as he pulled off his plaid and wiped ineffectually at the wet spot on the chest of his tank top. Stiles’ mouth went dry abruptly, and the laugh died in his throat. Scott’s shoulders and biceps gleamed unfairly in the firelight, muscle painted in light and shadow, contoured to perfection. That uncomfortable, niggling feeling of something building in his gut was too difficult to fight like this, in the peaceful twilight. He needed a distraction.

“Scotty,” he said, grabbing up a the bag of marshmallows. “Catch.”

The s’mores ingredients didn’t last long, and were never assembled into anything even vaguely resembling s’mores, as Scott couldn’t wait long enough to build one before he stuffed the blackened marshmallows in his mouth, and Stiles decided to boycott graham crackers completely. He lapped gooey marshmallow off of rapidly melting chocolate bars, eyes closing in pure joy at every bite. If it enabled him to also keep his wandering eyes from the breadth of Scott’s bare shoulders, the trimness of his waist, the way he seemed to _glow_ , that was a bonus.

“Lydia’s coming home to see her mom soon. She told me yesterday but I forgot to mention it,” Scott said, swinging his marshmallow over the fire on a stretched out coat hanger.

“Bringing anybody with her?” Stiles asked, struggling to get his marshmallow to stay on its bed of Hershey’s.

“Not that I know of.” Scott looked vaguely troubled at the idea. “Um. Should she be?”

“Nah, she’s got a girlfriend though. Thought she might bring her home to meet the gang.”

“Maybe she’s ashamed of us,” Scott laughed. Stiles knew how he still ached to be with his pack, to gather them around him and puppy pile until all their scents blended together again, but it seemed a bit easier lately. Like maybe he was getting used to stuff being just Scott and Stiles again, even if he was tired most of the time.

“Maybe she doesn’t know how to tell her girlfriend that she’s a member of an insanely attractive werewolf pack full of mostly not even werewolves.”

“Speaking of insanely attractive mostly not even werewolves, Derek said he and Brae would be back at the end of the month, but only for a few days.”

“Just enough time to almost kill the plants again, then?” Stiles grinned, sucking melted chocolate off his fingertips. Scott’s eyes lingered on his face, his hands, just a moment longer than he expected, and Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him. That look was… something he recognized. He held out his thumb, still covered in chocolate, and offered it to Scott as casually as he could. “Want some?”

Scott flushed bright red as he met Stiles’ eyes, tongue darting out just the smallest bit to wet his lips. Fireworks went off inside Stiles’ chest, heart racing and breath coming fast. His hand trembled slightly as Scott leaned forward, wrapping his tongue around Stiles’ thumb and sliding the chocolate from his skin. A rush of arousal slammed through his body with tidal force, overwhelming his senses as Scott’s eyes flashed red.

“Uh,” Scott said eloquently, backing away with hectic color painted all over his face. “Hmm.”

“Wouldn’t want to waste chocolate, right?” Stiles said, brain on autopilot as he dragged his thumb back to his own mouth, sucking the taste of Scott off his skin.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded. “Obviously.”

His smile when Stiles caught his eye was the same as it always was, bright and pure with crinkles at the edges, but there was something in his eyes, too, a little light that Stiles hadn’t noticed there before, wouldn’t have even known to look for. Still, it was there.

And gone just as quickly, at the sound of bells in the wood.

“You heard that right?” Scott asked, already on his feet.

“Bells? Yeah, I heard,” Stiles nodded, reaching into his pocket for the little sachet of iron shavings and foil-wrapped Fae stuff he’d relieved Deaton’s countertops of earlier.

“Here.” Scott pushed a small ornamental knife into his hands. The blade, black and sharp, didn’t look like any he’d seen at the clinic or the loft.

“What is this?” he asked, wrapping it securely in a scrap of material before shoving it into his pocket, too.

“Cold iron blade. Got it from Argent earlier. He stopped by the clinic while you were finishing your shift.”

“And he just happened to have a weapon made for killing faeries?” Stiles hissed, following as Scott led the way past the safety of their little fire. In the distance, bells continued to jingle softly, accompanied by quiet laughter. It sounded… _familiar_.

“Come on, I think it’s going this way,” Scott nodded east, deeper into the preserve. Stiles struggled to keep up as they picked their way through the underbrush, longer legs barely making a difference as Scott pushed aside fallen limbs with half-hearted attention.

Without a werewolf’s heightened senses, Stiles was essentially walking blind. The third time he tripped on a branch in their path, Scott pulled up short, grabbing his hand to save him from a spectacular spill.

“Might be easier if you hang onto me,” he said, securing Stiles’ hand in the tail of his tank top. The warmth of Scott’s lower back as it brushed against his knuckles almost distracted him from what they were doing until the laughter came again, closer this time.

“Can you find me?” A voice called from the darkness.

The tinkling of bells sounded louder as they moved through the wood. Stiles held tight to the iron knife in his pocket, but Scott seemed, if anything, more at ease than he had been in months. He moved with unnatural grace, instinct to hunt screaming in every line of his body. His eyes shone red and Stiles did his best just to hang on, trailing a step behind the whole way.

They stopped so abruptly that Stiles ran into Scott’s back, but Scott didn’t move forward an inch.

“Hey there - whoa, uh, is that -?”

“Mushrooms,” Scott nodded, gesturing toward a little ring of pale fungus arranged artfully on the ground. “Argent called it a fairy ring. They’re doors. Kind of.”

“Kind of how?” Stiles asked, still trying to figure out how exactly a group of mushrooms spontaneously grew in a circle. He rested his chin on Scott’s shoulder, body molded to Scott’s back as he looked for some sign of their laughing prey.

For some reason he felt like they were the ones being hunted.

“If you step into the ring with your eyes open and your heart awake, the fairy ring is supposed to take you into Fae.” It sounded a bit like Scott was reciting, which wasn’t all that odd. Mythological bullshit typically had to be stated exactly as written if it was going to work at all.

“Eyes open and heart awake, huh?” Stiles hummed thoughtfully and separated himself from Scott’s back. They stood side by side at the edge of the ring, the tinkling of bells all around them. Scott slipped his hand into Stiles’, squeezing hard one time. Stiles willed himself not to shrink back from the awareness of Scott at his side, of the way he’d willingly walk into Death itself if Scott held his hand like this and led the way.

Eyes open. Hearts awake.

“Ready?” Scott asked quietly, barely a whisper above the soft wood noises surrounding them, the ringing that sounded distant and close all at the same time.

“Ready,” Stiles nodded, lacing their fingers together. Scott pressed into the space between his knuckles gently, counting off. _One. Two. Three. Step_.

It didn’t feel like they’d gone further than the single step they’d taken, but at the same time, it was obvious they weren’t exactly in the preserve anymore. Stiles looked around, trying to suss out the differences, but it all looked basically the same. It just _felt_ different. Next to him, Scott thrummed with potential energy, body still but somehow also in motion. This side of the woods seemed to agree with him: colors brighter, scents sharper, air clearer.

“Come on,” Scott said, pulling Stiles easily from the ring of mushrooms. “Watch your step. If you end up back on the other side I’m not sure where you’ll come out, or if we’ll come out in the same place. They aren’t like elevators.”

“You don’t need to tell me that we’re a little unsure about the physics of interdimensional magic portals, Scott.”

The woods felt denser, more alive on this side, as if the very shadows were pressing against his skin and the moonlight cutting swaths through the darkness could be itself a cold blade. Stiles checked his pockets once more with his free hand, patting nervously, and Scott shot him a shaky grin.

“Just gonna talk to them,” Scott said. “See why they’re here, what they want. Shouldn’t be hard. Faeries aren’t _evil_.”

“Nah, just chaotic neutral kidnappers,” Stiles said easily, brushing aside a grasping branch.

“Right. Knew all that gaming would come in handy someday.” Scott ducked under a low-hanging limb. He pulled Stiles’ head down as he went, guiding him under with careful hands. “It’s your time, Stiles.”

“You say that like you’re joking but -” Stiles stopped, stunned, as he stared ahead of them into the woods.

“Stiles?” Scott hadn’t seen yet. He hadn’t turned around, looked into the face of -

Stiles wasn’t even sure what this was the face of. Just that he didn’t like it. He grabbed Scott’s shoulders and kept him there, facing Stiles, facing away from… that.

“Scotty, look at me okay? I need you to… be prepared for what you’re about to see.”

“I would ask if you’re about to moon me again but I have a feeling it’s not the time…” Scott’s face scrunched up, confused and affectionate all at once.

“You should tell him,” the thing in the woods said, and it had been two years, but the voice was still so achingly familiar that it felt like a knife to the gut. Scott’s eyes widened as he recognized it, and he pulled against Stiles’ hands, an aborted half-turn as horror painted itself on his face.

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head as Stiles held him steady.

“You’re right. It’s not… her. But it does look like her. Sounds like her.”

“ _Smells_ like her.”

Stiles pulled him in, arms tight around Scott’s shoulders as he made himself look past his best friend, into the clearing. A group of unearthly-looking creatures dressed in blinding white so bright it looked prismatic surrounded a brighter, more vibrant version of their own Nemeton stump, practically vibrating with energy. The missing girl, Megan, slept too peacefully to be totally natural on the ground nearby.

Beside them, standing tall with a dark, unfamiliar look on her face, was Allison Argent.

“I thought you’d like me better this way,” she said, hands stuffed into the pockets of a brown leather jacket. The floral dress underneath looked more like one of Lydia’s than Allison’s, but the combat boots and full quiver over her shoulder were definitely all Argent. “Did I get something wrong?”

“I’m honestly not even sure where to start.” Stiles grimaced as Scott pulled away, watching as the wolf tensed and turned, ready for the flay.

“Hello, Alpha,” Allison - Not Allison? - purred. Despite his moment of preparation, Scott still flinched backward into Stiles. That mouth saying those words, words they hadn’t said to Scott ever in life, made Stiles’ eyes prick with tears. He couldn’t imagine the pain Scott was feeling -

“How dare you wear her face?”

Or the anger.

“It was a face you liked. I thought it would be a welcome sight.”

“You… whoever you are, you aren’t Allison.”

Stiles pushed forward to stand at Scott’s side instead of his back. “It’s in pretty poor taste generally to adopt the appearance of the Alpha’s dead girlfriend.”

“Stiles.” Scott hissed out of the corner of his mouth, and smacked at Stiles’ hand. Not Allison just laughed.

“We’re not concerned with your customs,” she said, stepping closer, distancing herself from the Fae and Megan. “Even if we were, we’ve not come to ground for many years. Things have… changed.” The vague distaste on her face was so reminiscent of Allison’s forays into the Beacon High cafeteria that Stiles had to choke back a sound - a laugh, a sob, he couldn’t even tell, but it hung there in his throat, silencing him.

“Why’ve you come now?” Scott asked.

“We seek our kin. We understand you have a _bean sìth_ in your acquaintance.”

Scott turned immediately to Stiles, eyes wide and a little panicked. “Did she say ‘banshee’ or… something else?”

“Your tongue is clumsy,” she shrugged. “But yes. Where is the wailing woman? We would know our kin, return her to her rightful home with us. She was never meant to be left this long across the border.”

“You can’t have her,” Scott growled immediately, eyes flashing red and fangs dropping. Stiles grabbed his arm, completely powerless against the strength of a wolf, and yet Scott backed down just the same.

“Remember how Deaton said there was absolutely no way you should fight these guys? You are not fighting these guys.” He turned toward Not Allison and glared. “Even if she was here, she wouldn’t go with you.”

“You seem certain of that, human.”

Not Allison picked her way easily through the fallen limbs and tangled brush, seeming to glide toward them with easy grace. It looked… odd. Allison had always been strong, graceful in an athletic way, but this was like she moved bonelessly, spirited her being from one spot to the next without moving a muscle. Despite the perfect gloss of her dark hair, the stain of blush on her pale cheeks that matched the face he’d seen every day at school, the soft smile around her eyes as she looked at Scott, there was just enough off about Not Allison’s performance to make it - well. Incredibly creepy.

“I can’t keep calling you Not Allison in my head,” Stiles blurted out, trying to distract himself from the way her legs seemed to move independently of her hips. Not Allison stopped and stared at him, head tilted as if Stiles was suddenly of interest.

“You aren’t foolish enough to believe I’ll give you my true name,” she said, and Stiles could only shrug.

“Worth a try. I’m guessing if there’s any truth to the stories, we shouldn’t eat while we’re here either, huh?”

“Perhaps.” Not Allison smiled a mouthful of white teeth, and laughed at Scott’s frown. “Oh Alpha, is this not your second? This human with more brain than braun? Your people still tell stories of us, I know, even if they are much diluted.”

“How do you know things about faeries?” Scott demanded out of the side of his mouth. Stiles shrugged.

“Remember that year I was really into Dungeons and Dragons?” Scott nodded, and Stiles kicked at the dirt under his feet. “It may have actually been three years, four different MMOs, and the entire selection of fantasy novels available at the Beacon Heights Half Price Books.”

“Fantasy novels,” Scott repeated, dumbfounded. Scott got that face occasionally, and it usually meant _Please continue, I’ll be right there with you momentarily_. Stiles, familiar with this at least, talked right through it.

“Don’t eat anything she offers you. She can’t lie outright, but she’ll evade you, and they like tricking humans. She’s not possessing Allison’s body or anything gross like that. It’s a glamour, some type of illusion magic. I don’t know much about the Seelie Court stuff Deaton was talking about, but he didn’t seem concerned so… Dangerous, sure, but maybe not the way we’re used to.”

“I see why he kept you,” Not Allison grinned. “Very impressive.”

“Kept him?”

“Kept me?”

“When you split the pack.” Not Allison shrugged, more an odd roll of her head than her shoulders. Scott reared back, nearly stepping on Stiles in the process.

“Wait, I didn’t -”

“She’s doing it already, the tricking thing. Don’t let her upset you,” Stiles said, rubbing one hand over Scott’s shoulder. This was already more than they were prepared for, and Scott losing his cool definitely wouldn’t earn them any brownie points with the uncanny host. “Give us something to call you.”

“Quicker than I expected,” she said approvingly. “You may call me Isla.”

“You just like the sound of that or something?” Stiles asked before he could help himself. Scott nudged him in the ribs with an elbow, not quite disapprovingly.

“It is a name I’ve gone by before. It is a name I’ll likely go by again. More importantly, it is what you asked for. I’ve done something for you. Now you do something for me. That’s friendly, yes?”

“Sure, if Faeries had any idea what friendship with humans entailed,” Stiles nodded. Scott slapped a hand over his mouth, scowling slightly.

“What do you want from us?”

“Your ‘banshee’ is of the fae. She was left here as an infant, to grow and develop in the nurturing home of a human mother.” Isla stood unnaturally still, as if she’d momentarily forgotten what humans looked like when they, well, humaned. “I gave you my name. You give me hers.”

“Wait. Are you saying Lydia’s a _changeling_?”

“Lydia?” Isla’s eyes brightened and she lifted her face in the air, as if maybe knowing Lydia’s name would help her scent the banshee from this other world. “Changeling has always seemed an odd term to me. She did not change. We merely allowed her to live here for a time, so she might be cared for by human parents. The Fae who are only half our blood generally do need more nurturing than other Fae children.”

Scott looked disbelieving, but there was something far fishier about that story. Stiles pulled Scott’s hand away from his face and asked, “And you thought _Beacon Hills_ was the right sort of place to give her a nice, normal, human upbringing?”

“ _I_ did not,” Isla stiffened, cutting her eyes back toward the Fae gathered at the Not Nemeton. “There are few places left in the world where we can cross the borders easily, and this one was chosen by the council. I was… not asked for my opinion on the matter.”

Scott stepped forward, the first move he’d made toward Isla since they’d spotted her, hand outstretched like maybe he could offer her comfort.

“Is Lydia… _yours_?”

Isla jerked back, repulsed. “If she was, do you think I would have mistaken this foolish girl for _sidhe_? Your Lydia is the blood of my blood, but not of my body.”

“You know she’s not actually here, right?” Stiles asked, trying to stay in Scott’s line of sight without actually stepping any closer to the Fae, either the berobed silent ones in the corner or the Allison-knockoff.

“We realized that when the alpha weakened,” Isla shrugged, lopsided. “Still, it seemed most appropriate that she would return here eventually. We just acted too soon.” She sent a glare back at the silent Fae behind her.

“It’s rough to have a team that doesn’t follow orders. Scotty and me, we know what that’s like,” Stiles babbled, clapping Scott around the waist. The Fae recognized that Scott was losing power. That put them in a worse place than he’d originally thought, and his original thought was that they were screwed. So now they were… super screwed.

“Do you? It looks to me that you don’t really have a team at all,” Isla stated simply.

“My pack is still my pack,” Scott said, the growl coming back into his voice, “even if they’re away from home right now. They’ll come back eventually. We’re still… we’re still a pack.”

“Do you really believe that, Alpha?” Isla tilted her head at him, faux innocence painted all over her too-familiar face.

Scott...didn’t answer.

Stiles’ breath caught in his chest as he waited, waited for Scott to defend the pack like he always did. He waited for Scott to say, _Of course they’ll come back, they wouldn’t just abandon me, we’re family, we need each other, they need me._ Because that was the truth, and Scott told the truth when he could, when he didn’t have to lie to save someone else.

The defense never came, though. Instead, Isla straightened up, put on the most convincing smile he’d seen from her yet, and held a hand out to Scott as if in truce.

“We have both of us lost something precious,” she said, voice soft. She didn’t speak like Allison at all. The strange cadence of her words, the formal pattern nothing like Allison’s easy chatter, but her voice still sounded so familiar that it caught him off guard. Scott reached out and took her hand, shaking it once, and Isla moved even closer, pushing his hair off of his forehead with a gentle sweep of her fingers. “Lydia is the child of my sister and her human lover. I would know her. I want to bring her home where she can fulfill the legacy of her people, know the comfort and strength there is in being among her own. Does she not deserve that? To be among those who are like her?”

Scott’s eyes were slightly glazed, and he watched her with unwavering attention. Stiles wasn’t even sure he was blinking. Obviously he was confused, because otherwise he never would have nodded that way about Isla taking Lydia to Fae and not letting her return.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up there,” Stiles started, stepping forward to insinuate himself between them. Isla pulled Scott closer, though, moving so that she was the point of a shallow triangle instead. In an instant, two of the robed Fae were behind him, grabbing his shoulders to keep him in place. He pulled against their hands, but he knew better than to get his hopes up about that. A pair of pretty strong humans would be difficult for him to fight off alone. Supernatural beings with untold strength and superpowers? Not a chance.

Still, he had his voice. He had to do something. “Scotty, listen. I’m not sure what’s happening here, but she’s talking about taking Lydia. Your packmate. Our friend. Okay? _Taking_ her.”

“No, you’re right,” Scott nodded, glancing briefly toward Stiles before refocusing on Isla. He struggled to get the words out, as if his mouth didn’t want to say the things his brain was thinking. When he did speak, though, Stiles was sort of inclined to agree with whichever of them - Scott’s mouth or his brain - was currently losing. “Lydia should… she should… have a choice. They should all have a choice.”

“Yeah I don’t think Tinkerbell over here’s ready to give her a choice, buddy.”

“Watch yourself,” Isla grunted in his direction before turning smiling eyes back to Scott. “You’re right, Alpha. Everyone should have a choice. Especially you.”

“Me?” Scott’s eyes were wide and blank like he was caught in a daydream. Isla smoothed a possessive hand down his cheek.

“Of course, Scott,” she said, so quiet Stiles had to strain to hear. “Of course you should get a choice. You have so few choices in Beacon Hills. Be the Alpha. Protect everyone. Thankless work cleaning up after animals and saving people who, if they knew you existed, would hate you outright. You didn’t even get to go to college. And you wanted that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Yeah, I did. I wanted things… that.”

“You could be here instead. Stay and live forever with your packmate and her kin.” Her voice was liquid silk, wrapping around Scott’s throat as surely as if it had been her hands. She let it go a bit high, almost breathless and said, “Stay with me, Scott? Please? I’ve missed you.”

Stiles struggled harder against the Fae holding him, but Scott didn’t even look at him. In the space of a moment, Isla had lost every bit of that uncanny, inhuman edge, let it blend down gently like the curve of Allison’s curls or the softness of her eyes. It was a bit like looking back in time, or sideways.  He felt acutely that he was intruding here, like it was some private space just for them.

Stiles’ heart sank in his chest. If Isla was offering him Allison then…

“It’s not her,” he shouted, hoping to break through whatever web she was weaving. “She’s not Allison, Scott. Allison died, remember? She died, for us. For Lydia. You know that.”

Scott shook his head, like he was shaking off a blow. He blinked, over and over, but the soft, dazed look never left his eyes.

“Allison?” he asked. Desperation, hope, affection and fear all rolled together in his voice.

“All you have to do is take a bite.” Isla waved one hand over the other and a handful of berries appeared, vibrant red and purple against the pale skin of her palm. “One taste and this is yours. Forever.”

“...F’rever?” Scott slurred, tongue sounding too large for his mouth.

“Don’t you feel stronger here already? Can you not feel the way this land bolsters you? There is no natural death for the Fae or their chosen. Only a gleeful life stretching into eternity.” She plucked a berry from her palm, plump and purple, and held it between her thumb and forefinger in offering. Scott’s face was unmoving, but his eyes tracked the berry’s progress, watching it with attention he usually reserved for endangered packmates and lacrosse balls.

_Think, Stiles. Use your brain. If Scott needs to feel a pack, be his pack. You’re the only hope he’s got. You can’t lose him now._

“What will you give me, in return?” It was a longshot, he knew, working off of information gleaned from fantasy novels and roleplaying games, but still. It felt right, somehow, to ask.

Isla startled like a wild animal. “What did you say?”

“If you take Scott, what will you offer me to restore the balance?”

Isla pulled her hand back from Scott’s mouth, turning immediately on Stiles with a blaze in her eyes.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, before she could counter. “You’re offering Scott a choice? Let’s offer him a real one. If he chooses to stay here with you, then so does the rest of the pack, including Lydia. If he chooses to come home with me, you return Scott, Megan, and me to our home, and leave our pack and the rest of Beacon Hills alone.”

“What right do you have to bargain for the Alpha?” she sneered. “If you were a pack member, maybe -”

“You said yourself I was his second,” Stiles argued, mouth working faster than his brain.

Isla scoffed. “You’re human. Incapable of forming a pack bond or offering him your strength. Why do you think he’s grown so weak? You may have been a useful sidekick, but you cannot strike a deal for him, and you cannot require payment from me for something you have no hold over.”

“No hold, huh?” Stiles grunted against the strength of the immovable Fae behind him. “Make them let go of me and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove to you that I’ve got more right to him than anyone. He’ll tell you himself.”

Isla’s eyes dragged over Scott, taking in his lax posture and dazed expression. She _laughed_.

“So be it, then. I accept your terms, and let no one say I didn’t offer you a fighting chance. You realize, though, that humans cannot survive in my realm? Once the Alpha chooses to stay here with me, it will mean your death, of course. But it will also mean the death of the girl, and your human packmate. Are you willing to risk it?”

The look on her face was utterly cold, devoid of the humanity she’d shown Scott moments before. Scott didn’t react, though; he watched them both will dull, disinterested eyes. Rage reared up in Stiles’ gut at the sight of it, overpowering everything else. His eyes didn’t glow gold, and he had no fangs and claws, but having his position in the pack challenged made the wolf break loose in Stiles’ chest just as much as it ever had in Scott’s.

“I’ve known Scott since I was four years old, and there’s nothing more important to him than his pack. I’m not risking anything.”

“I’m afraid he’s going to make a liar of you, human. But by all means, please, convince him.”

At the snap of Isla’s fingers, the Fae let go of his shoulders, and Stiles shook them off, pushing his way forward until he could wrap his hands around Scott’s biceps. He shook his Alpha once, hard. Despite the sharp shake of Scott’s head, his eyes looked no clearer than they had before.

“Come on, Scotty,” Stiles said, ducking down to look into Scott’s eyes. The muscles of Scott’s face were lax, making him look younger than he had in months, maybe years. For a moment Stiles’ heart ached for the boy Scott had been, before Allison or the bite, before they’d gone searching for a body in the woods. “Hey, buddy, it’s me, okay? It’s Stiles. And I need you to come back to me, okay?”

“Ssss…” Scott started, but Isla interrupted with a snort.

“Is this your grand declaration of ownership, then? Some hissing?”

“Shut it,” Stiles snapped back at her, eyes never leaving Scott’s face. “Scott, she’s manipulating you. It’s some sort of faerie magic. That isn’t Allison, okay? Allison’s not here, and I know you miss her. God, I miss her, _we all miss her_. But Scott... I need you to hear me. If you stay here with her, you’ll never get to go home. You’ll never see your mom again. You know she’d miss you so much, right? She needs you to take the trash out, dude. I can’t haul the cans outside nearly as well as you! And my dad… pretty sure you’re my dad’s favorite kid, and you’re not even… _we’re_ not… he’d miss you too. Okay? And Derek. He’s an ass, but he bought those plants because he knew you’d need them. And Braeden brings him home just to check in with you because she knows that he needs to be near his Alpha. Lydia talks to you more than she talks to me anymore, and you know Kira and Malia are coming back for Spring Break just to see you. Your pack needs you to be there, Scott, even if they’re away from home. Especially when they’re away from home.”

Scott nodded along as if he was trying to follow a conversation in another language. Stiles could feel Isla staring at him, willing him to fail, keeping Scott under whatever this spell was. He knew, suddenly, with incredible clarity, that he was going to lose Scott.

The last eight months played back through his mind like the sappiest movie montage he’d ever seen. Every day had been spent by Scott’s side -- riding in to work together, eating packed lunches together, patrolling the preserve together, passing out on the couch in the loft while watching TV together. Without the pack around life had been strange, but for Stiles it had been… Well. It had been like having his best friend all to himself again, for the first time since the bite.

Stiles had _liked_ it. Even with Scott growing weaker, Stiles had felt the strength of their bond grow by the day.

“You can’t let her take you away, okay?” he begged, emotion threatening to choke the words from him. “You can’t let her win, because even if the pack didn’t need you… I do. I need you, Scott. I love you. And I -”

“What a lovely display.” Isla cleared her throat and Stiles felt the Fae move behind him. He was out of time. Nothing he could say would break the spell.

Stiles spun and pulled the knife out of his pocket, holding it protectively in front of him. Isla’s eyes went wide as he slashed it through the air, flailing wildly. The Fae stepped back, watching Isla for a signal.

“If you would just give me a minute -” he said through gritted teeth, and -

 _The spell_.

Stiles turned back around, still holding tight to the cold iron.

“I would apologize in advance, but I’m pretty sure you can’t hear me anyway, so I guess we’ll work it out after.” Happiness and anticipation and the cold steel of fear bubbled in Stiles’ gut. He wasn’t even sure this would work, but he had to try. He pushed forward, guiding Scott’s face up with one hand, and ducked down to press his lips against Scott’s. He kissed with single-minded devotion, pouring every moment of the last eight months they’d spent together into Scott’s mouth. He kissed like rushed brown bag lunches and joyrides in the Jeep and movie marathons that Scott inevitably ended up falling asleep during. He kissed like Wednesday night dinner with Melissa and visiting the animals at Deaton’s clinic and walking idly through the woods. He kissed like lazy Sunday mornings sitting at the island in Derek’s loft, two coffee cups and a line of potted succulents between them.

He kissed like the truest love he’d ever felt, and Scott kissed back.

 

 

As soon as Stiles felt Scott react under his hands, he pulled back. Scott just whined and pulled him back in, clinging to Stiles’ shoulders and kissing with soft, sweet sounds.

“Stiles,” he whispered against Stiles’ mouth, tongue darting out to catch a taste of Stiles’ lips. “Stiles, Stiles, I’m sorry, I-”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Stiles interrupted, tilting Scott’s head back so that Stiles could reach him better, drink small, chaste kisses from his mouth like honey from the comb.

“If you’re quite through.” Isla coughed awkwardly, an expression so human that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t think I am, quite,” he grinned, and felt Scott’s answering smile on his lips.

“Better not be. I have plans for our mouths for the foreseeable future, dude,” Scott said. He pressed another kiss to Stiles’ lips before sighing and pulling away, one arm still wrapped around Stiles’ shoulders. “I think we should probably deal with this first though.”

Watching Scott turn toward Isla and the Fae made Stiles ache to pull him back in, bury Scott’s face in his neck and hide him away from them. He kept from it, barely, but wrapped one arm tightly around Scott’s waist to hold him close. He didn’t want to be separated again.

“Isla, I am not staying in Fae with you.” Scott said it slowly and clearly, letting each word ring in the dim silence of the false wood.

Isla flinched almost imperceptibly. She didn’t look at either of them, but instead into the middle distance between their heads. “You have a hold over the Alpha that I did not expect. And you were obviously more aware of our legends than I thought.”

“True Love’s Kiss is kind of a big deal where we’re from,” Stiles shrugged. “And nobody in our world or yours loves Scott as much as I do.”

“You consent to this human staking his claim over you?” she asked Scott directly. Stiles did his best to block her gaze, but Scott didn’t seem bothered by it this time. He squeezed Stiles’ shoulder once and nodded his head.

“Stiles is right. I belong in Beacon Hills. And so does Megan, and Lydia. Taking any of us out of our homes would upset the balance of power in the land.”

Isla tossed her head, obviously irritated.

“And what about the balance of power in _my_ land? Do I not deserve to know my kin? Do my folk not need to know the daughter of their Que -” She broke off, but it was too late. Stiles’ eyes felt like they were going to bug out of his head.

“Of fucking course Lydia’s a faerie princess,” Stiles grunted, laughing.

“If Lydia is one of you, will she be affected by your magic? The hypnosis thing?” Scott asked.

“The glamour only works on those that are not of Fae,” Isla said simply. As she spoke, Allison’s face began to fade away, blending into something stranger. Her dark hair lightened until it was almost white, familiar features sharpened and turned up, in, as if everything on her face had been carved with a fine tipped knife. Within seconds, all of Allison was gone, and instead the Faerie Isla stood before them in her white-robed glory, larger and more terrible. It was a relief. “I have no reason to hide from one of our own. She would know me upon seeing me.”

“I’ll talk to Lydia,” Scott said, looking at her with earnest eyes. “If she agrees, our pack will meet you and your kin at the Nemeton on Beltane. You can talk with her then - _just talk_ \- and we’ll go from there. Balance is about compromise. There’s no reason we can’t coexist.”

“We cannot just come through the border at will. The edges are thinner at Beltane, but we must be called, or use up great stores of our own magic to pass into your world. How will you guarantee me that we will not be doing so for no reason?”

Stiles slid the knife back into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out the little sachet from Deaton’s instead.

“These bells, you can hear them between worlds, right? That’s how you call to one another?” Stiles unwrapped them from the foil, careful not to touch the stones inside.

“You understand their use correctly.”

“We’ll use them, then,” Scott said easily. “If Lydia agrees, then the week before Beltane we’ll go to the Nemeton and ring the bells for you to hear. That should give you enough time to get together a visiting party or something, right?”

“That is… more generous than expected.” Isla gestured toward the Fae still surrounding Megan, and instantly she was awake and blinking, wide-eyed at her surroundings. “We will come to you on Beltane, once the sun has set. I trust that you will not betray your word, or greet us with hostility.”

“Just like that?” Stiles asked before catching himself at Scott’s dark look. “It just… seems a bit too easy.”

“A bargain was made, and now it is kept.” Isla sort of shrugged, sharp shoulders arching toward her ears in a slick, too-smooth motion that made Stiles vaguely nauseous. “The Fae are powerful, but as all power does, we have boundaries that we do not cross.”

“Well then, guess it’s a good thing we don’t,” Stiles grinned, and Scott rolled his eyes. “How do we get back?”

“With open eyes and quickened hearts,” Isla said with a brief, terrifying smile. With a flick of her wrist, she and the rest of the Fae were gone, and Scott and Stiles were left alone in the dark with a terrified kidnapping victim in the wrong dimension.

“So, guessing we need to adjust Argent’s monster manual a bit. Quickened is pretty similar to awake, but, uh, not exactly the same.” Stiles looked around, vaguely embarrassed without knowing exactly why.

“Come here,” Scott demanded, pulling him forward. The kiss was strong and sure and full of affection, everything he associated with Scott, and helped settle him right back down into his bones even as it set his belly full of butterflies. Scott laughed as he pulled away, and Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him. “Sorry. S’just. I’ve been waiting to do that for months. I just didn’t want to make it harder on you when you have to go.”

“If you think I’m going anywhere at all, I’m calling Isla back and force feeding you those dumb berries,” Stiles snarked, but Scott just smiled.

“Um, do you… know where we are…?” Megan stood uncomfortably by the copycat Nemeton stump, hands clinging white-knuckled to her hoodie.

“Oh! Sorry, yeah, of course,” Scott said, immediately going to her aid. “Megan Stone, right? I’m Scott McCall, and this is my…. uh, Stiles. And we’re here to rescue you.”

“Great,” she nodded, looking like she might be on the verge of passing out at any moment. “Sounds good. If we could get right to that, I’d be really glad. I’m pretty sure I’ve been asleep for a week.”

“Three days,” Stiles offered, but she didn’t look any more comforted than she had before.

“If this Nemeton is in the same place as our Nemeton, then it stands to reason that this Fairy Ring would come out nearby, close to the road,” Scott said, pointing to a ring of mushrooms with a questioning look on his face.

“I mean, if you can apply reason to anything related to faeries.” Stiles shrugged.

“Well, what do you think? You’re the resident faerie expert, apparently.”

Stiles laughed and held out his hand. “Nah. Just pretty good at taking a leap of faith.”

**-x-**

“You’re sure she said she’d need two sleeping bags?” Scott asked again, setting up their spare tent.

“What she actually said was, ‘I’m Lydia Martin and I’m not sleeping on the ground even if my girlfriend is okay with it,’ so I think that means two sleeping bags.” Stiles pulled the folding chairs out of the back of the Jeep and arranged them in a sort of half-circle around the fire pit.

“That sounds like no sleeping bags, Stiles.” Scott grunted as he snapped the tent rods into place. “That sounds like two fewer sleeping bags than you made me pack.”

“Are you kidding? They’ll totally stay all night. If nothing else, Lydia will be so horrified by her 3am make-up that she’ll stay here just to keep a hotel clerk from seeing it.”

“So have you figured out the mystery girlfriend yet?” Scott pulled the cooler out of the back seat and checked it, already full of drinks and ice.

“I have some ideas,” Stiles hummed as he chunked his duffel bag into their tent.

“Hey, whoa, easy there!” Scott grabbed his shoulders and rubbed them briefly, like he was warming up a boxer for a fight. “Don’t want to take the whole tent out. I just got it set up!”

Stiles rolled his eyes but relaxed into Scott’s hands. He leaned back, falling against Scott’s chest with a huffed breath, and tipping his head back onto Scott’s shoulder.

“If I did knock it over -- _and I didn’t_ \-- you could literally set it back up in twenty minutes.”

Scott mouthed hot and wet at Stiles’ jawline in what could barely be referred to as kisses, sending shivers up and down his spine.

“Maybe I have other things in mind for that twenty minutes,” he said, slipping his arms around Stiles’ ribs. In seconds Scott had spun Stiles around and lifted him off the ground, carrying him over one shoulder like a caveman.

“Whoa! Hey! What are you -?” Stiles laughed, using the opportunity to drum happy hands against Scott’s perfect ass.

“Watch it!” Scott grunted.

“Oh, trust me, I am,” Stiles shot back. Scott groaned and dropped him onto the air mattress in their tent.

“You’re the worst,” Scott sighed, straddling Stiles’ hips and hovering just out of reach.

“I totally am. I figured you’d have rubbed off on me at least a little bit by now…” Stiles shrugged, trying to hold the laugh in his chest. Scott rolled his eyes and dropped down, lining up their hips and sinking his face into the warm comfort of Stiles’ neck.

“Guess I should get started on that then, huh?” His voice was muffled but Stiles didn’t particularly care after he rolled their hips together just once. Pleasure pooled heavy in Stiles’ belly, arousal and happiness vying to outdo one another. He arched up, looking for friction and the visceral joy of having Scott’s body connected to his.

“Twenty minutes you said?” Stiles asked, scrabbling at Scott’s t-shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it to the side, barely holding in a groan of pleasure at the sight of Scott’s bared chest.

“Maybe a little more. Depends on how early Derek and Braeden show up. He’ll want to make sure we have plenty of safeguards and -” Stiles put his hand over Scott’s mouth, shushing him gently.

“Do not talk about Derek’s paranoia when I am talking about getting laid.”

Scott nipped at his fingers, forcing Stiles to pull them back.

“You going to take my shorts off or what?” Scott waggled his eyebrows, cheesy and obvious, and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat anyway.

“Fuck yes I am taking your shorts off.”

In seconds they had both stripped down, clothes flung to the far reaches of the tent. The air mattress was flimsy at best, but that didn’t stop Stiles from rolling Scott over and pinning him down, hands holding each of Scott’s wrists to the plastic.

“Are you ready for this, McCall?” Stiles asked, grinding their hips together. His cock, already full and aching, rubbed against Scott’s. The friction was delicious, making him gasp and his muscles twitch.

“I dunno,” Scott said as he wrapped one hand around both of them. “Are you?”

“Ohhhhh fuck please.” Stiles’ back curved down toward him instantly, body clamoring to get closer, have more of Scott plastered to him. Scott stroked them with long, even pulls, pausing after every one to let the tension build.

“I’m a big fan of the new tent, by the way,” Scott said conversationally. It almost worked, but Stiles could tell he was struggling to hold onto his composure by the flush high on his cheeks, the way his lips pouted red and slick from the constant biting.

“Oh yeah? Working out for you?” Stiles fumbled next to the mattress blindly until he came up with a trial packet of lube. He tore it open with his teeth, grimaced at the taste on his tongue, and then immediately emptied the packet all over Scott’s hand.

“Fuck, shit, kay, okay,” Scott panted through the next slick stroke, arm shaking with the effort to keep it slow.

“C’mon Scotty,” Stiles pleaded, trying to thrust into Scott’s fist. The curl of Scott’s fingers around them both, the way his cock rubbed hot against Scott’s on every push, the little bump of pleasure every time Scott thumbed his slit -- it was embarrassing how much he needed to come already.

“Trying to - fuck - make this last, okay?” Scott grunted, repositioning his hand so that the head of his cock pressed right into Stiles’ frenulum.

“Ungh. Don’t. Just. Wow.” Stiles pressed down, body hunched and muscles drawn tight as the pleasure in his balls built up, threatening to overwhelm him. “Almost - gonna -”

“Kiss me,” Scott demanded, hand speeding up to match Stiles’ irregular thrusts. “Please, please, please -”

Stiles cut him off with his mouth, pressing fast, fierce kisses to Scott’s lush, wet lips. He dragged his tongue over the seam of them, invading Scott’s mouth the way he’d welcomed himself into every other piece of Scott’s life, his body, his heart.

“ _Mmhnfph, Stiles_ ,” Scott grunted into Stiles’ mouth. He stilled, hand squeezing tightly around their cocks as he spilled over his own belly with a long, high-pitched whine. Stiles would have laughed at it if it wasn’t so hot. As it was, it was all he could do to get a hand between them, stroking himself with rabbit-fast pulls until orgasm overwhelmed him, covering Scott’s torso with his spend.

Stiles flopped down, letting his full weight rest on Scott’s smaller body, and laughed at Scott’s dramatic gasp for air.

“You like it,” he said, sipping small, sweet kisses from Scott’s mouth.

“I love you,” Scott corrected drowsily. Even after hearing it for four months, it still sent a thrill up Stiles’ spine to hear Scott say those words.

“I love you too.”

“Good,” Scott sighed, running his clean hand through Stiles’ hair. “Then in about two minutes, you can explain to Derek why our campsite smells like come.”

 

 

The campfire roared high, lighting up the clearing with ease. Stiles watched as Kira and Malia fed one another melty marshmallows, giggling when a bit of singed fluff dripped from their fingers or into each other’s mouths. On the other side of the fire, Derek sat lax on the ground between Braeden’s knees, head back in her lap while she ran her fingers through his beard. She caught Stiles watching and winked, scratching pointedly behind Derek’s ears. Stiles blushed. Yeah, he had figured that little trick out already.

Isla sat idly on the Nemeton, only wearing enough of a glamour to make herself look somewhat human. Next to her, Lydia held the sort of court she’d grown used to in high school. Several faeries sat on the ground in front of them both, watching wide-eyed as Lydia explained the way her powers had manifested after Peter Hale bit her. At her other side, Cora Hale sat stock-still and uncomfortable, except for the hand that toyed idly with Lydia’s in her lap.

“Feeling good?” Stiles asked, turning toward Scott’s chair where the Alpha sat, stretched out and loose-limbed in the warmth of the fire and the early Spring evening.

“Great,” Scott corrected, reaching out to twine his fingers with Stiles’. His hair shone brilliantly, skin luminous in the soft light of the fire, and the tired circles under his eyes that had plagued him for months were nowhere to be seen.

“Are you going to be doing that a lot now?” Kira asked from across the campfire.

“Doing what?” Stiles squinted, trying to see through the flame.

“Looking at him all googly-eyed,” she grinned. Malia laughed, loud and long, and Scott did too.

“I hope so,” Scott said, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “It would suck to be the only one looking googly.”

“Do you have tips on how to deal with this?” Malia asked Braeden, gesturing toward Scott and Stiles.

“As if they’re the only ones here that need to be dealt with,” Braeden replied, pointedly looking at Kira’s hand trapped between Malia’s thighs. Malia just pushed on, ignoring that completely.

“I’m just saying, if we’re coming back to Beacon Hills next month I really think we need some sort of plan for having to watch our pack parents make out -”

“Wait, coming back?” Scott interrupted, sitting upright. “Like, to visit or…?”

“We’re visiting _now_. Why would we visit again in a month?” Malia looked genuinely confused.

“I don’t know, that’s why I was asking…” Scott slumped back a little, also confused. Stiles shook his head.

“We’re moving back!” Kira shouted, jumping up to round the fire pit and nearly tackle Scott in a hug. “Malia and I decided to come back and go to college at Beacon Heights. New York is great, and obviously that’s where my dad needs to be for work, but we felt so wrong being away from you and the rest of the pack. We’ll both feel better here.”

Scott’s eyes were suspiciously shiny even in the dark of Kira’s shadow.

“Wow. I. Wow. Kira, I am so, so glad you’re coming back. I - we both, Stiles and me, we missed both of you so much, and -”

“What Scotty here is trying to say is,” Stiles interrupted, patting his hand soothingly, “you can come back, but the loft is ours.”

“Excuse me?” Derek growled, but his closed eyes and soft smile gave him away. “Technically it is still my loft. Even if it does smell like a frat house now.”

“It’s a very small frat,” Stiles shrugged. “And. Uh. Not exactly fraternal. Like really un-fraternal, actually.”

“We know, Stiles,” Lydia groaned, breaking out of her own conversation with Isla and the Fae to join in. “Naturally I’m going back to school in the Fall, but Cora and I will be here until then, and obviously I’ll have to come back for the Solstice.”

“What about you guys?” Scott looked toward Derek and Braeden hopefully. “Are you staying?”

“Scott, my job involves being on the road for months at a time. You know that,” Braeden frowned, and Scott just nodded sadly.

“No, of course, I get that.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fortunately for everyone, Brae’s managed to earn herself some time off. For the next four months, we’re all yours.”

“And what about you?” Scott turned toward Stiles, eyes bright and happy. “Your year is officially up. Where are you going to be?”

“I dunno,” Stiles grinned and pulled Scott over the arm of his chair, holding his face just inches away from Stiles’ own. “Wherever you are, probably.”

“Oh yeah?”

Scott barely got the words out before Stiles was kissing him, tugging at his hair and nipping at his mouth with affection. Stiles heard Malia in the background pretending to gag, and Scott broke off with a laugh, letting his forehead rest against Stiles’.

“Staying right here with me, then, huh?” he asked, high wattage smile lighting up his face. “Haven’t figured out anything you’d rather do yet?”

Stiles laughed, unable to keep the joy building in his chest inside, and nuzzled their noses together.

“I’ll let you know when I come across something better. This is working out pretty well for me thus far.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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